


Warmth

by sevastre



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 05:25:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevastre/pseuds/sevastre
Summary: A brief examination into the nature of the futile search for a coat that will fit Alphinaud, or otherwise aptly summarized as: a reason why Alphinaud elects to stand, rather miserably, next to a brazier and several surly Ishgardian watchguards instead of simply putting on a jacket.





	Warmth

“Coerthas,” Alphinaud says, scowling, “is damnably cold.”

Cid looks up from his repairs, his hands stained with engine-grease. “Any other day, I’d propose that we send our ever-reliable adventurer on a quest to fix this, but there is a simpler solution.”

Typical, of course, for a magitek engineer to pare down problems to their core. The smile Alphinaud turns upon him is tinged with a wry weariness-- and with a touch of blue to his lips. 

“It would be a far-fetched and unlikely quest, but one I would not bet against succeeding; such is the faith I have in his skill. But short of bringing down the dragons of Ishgard upon this fortress to bathe it in flame, I can think of naught else that would spare us from such an inhospitable climate, and our adventurer is doubtless busy with other pressing tasks. What solution might you suggest, my friend?”

“A warm drink or two, and-- maybe a coat, should we manage to find one small enough.” Cid grins, rather broadly, as Alphinaud levels him with a perfectly arched brow-- the architects of Coerthas would doubtless weep-- but Cid is unflappable. His moods are infectious, Alphinaud has discovered. For the first time since setting foot upon this Twelve-forgotten, frost-bound land, he finds himself smiling- a little indignant, but smiling nonetheless. 

“Hardly a difficult task! The elder Elezen who reside here were once my size, you know, and those sleeves of yours seem to offer even less protection against the elements.”

They bicker, companionably, as Cid makes the last of his repairs to his machine and washes himself free of the oil- blackened all the way up to his forearms- before they both make their way into the outer halls of the tower.

Cid indeed later procures a number of coats of indeterminate make, but each is duly rejected for their various mothballed, mousy, dust-laden states. The Adventurer is apologetic when Alphinaud finally locates him, for all he possesses is extremely battle-torn gear, or cheaply made hempen clothing that reeks faintly of various Gridanian herbs and halistroper breath. He makes to fumble about his pockets for gil, but Alphinaud puts an end to that by pointing out that it would be put to better use if invested in a lance made with Ishgardian steel rather than worn bone and wood.

“You would think that the Ishgardians have failed to have children for twenty years, or otherwise preferred to outfit them with oversized clothing,” Alphinaud says, miffed, as they head back to Cid’s allotted workspace. His expression is one of consternation. “But of course. Coerthas is an outpost.”

“Perhaps we could ask the Lalafellan officer stationed here if he might spare any coats?” Cid suggests lightly, and manages to keep a straight face when Alphinaud turns to him, his face obscured by the armful of coats he’s carrying. 

“I trust you needn’t see my expression to know that wisecracks about my height are more than welcome to never be uttered again in my presence, thank you kindly. Not that they particularly bother me; Elezen children tend to hit their stride a little later than the Hyur. Perfectly acceptable.”

This time, Cid can’t not smile. “I have no doubt that you, in your prime, will tower over me. Do remember to look down every so often; I’ll miss your company.”

“And I will acknowledge you with as much tolerant grace as you show me now,” Alphinaud shoots back.

In the end, Alphinaud ends up coat-less. Cid also goes without. He tells Alphinaud that the Garlean Empire offers winters similarly harsh, and that he can manage.

While Cid attempts to make overtures of friendship with the men and women of the infirmary with his machine, and the adventurer dashes about Coerthas with no signs of flagging strength or enthusiasm, Alphinaud pokes about the observatory; inquires after more signs of their missing Enterprise, and winds up sitting on one of the long benches of the kitchens with a cup of spiced apple cider in hand. 

“Something should be done about Inquisitor Guillaume,” Cid says in way of greeting. Alphinaud watches as he accepts a similar steaming mug and takes a seat next to him. He cups his hands around the ceramic and nods in agreement, troubled. 

“He has done his utmost best to impede our attempts to clear the innocent Houses of their guilt,” he replies. “...I have my suspicions. Fiercely religious as the Ishgardians are, even they must sense that something is wrong with the proceedings of the trial.”

“Accusations of heresy and betrayal go hand-in-hand here.” Cid raises his drink to his lips, and lowers it, his brow furrowed with frustration. “The loyal tread a thin line between piety and zeal. The most we can do is get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible, and… well, making headway is a little more difficult than I thought it would be.”

There is a brief moment of confusion in his sea-storm blue eyes, Alphinaud notes, and he sympathizes. Torn from a life of tranquility-- if one could call an amnesiac free of all his past burdens and memories truly tranquil-- and given a name he has forgotten must be jarring. 

On sudden impulse, he reaches out and lays a warmed hand on Cid’s forearm: an easy, habitual move cultivated from years of having to soothe Alisae in one of her moods-- and vice versa.

“The minds of people like Inquisitor Guillaume can always be parsed,” he says, quietly. “Rest assured, we will do what must be done. Either he is a man with such a guilty conscience that he must pursue innocents to absolve himself of his crimes, or he is a man with something to hide.”

A little of the tense weariness in Cid’s shoulders drains away. “I’m grateful to have such a learned philosopher for a friend, Alphinaud.” Nothing in his tone rings of sarcasm or condescension, which he is immeasurably grateful for.

He offers him a small smile. “Not so learned, and not so enlightened. To have done all of this at the age of sixteen would have been nothing for Louisoix. There are many mistakes I have made along the way, and plenty of my self-assurance that has been taken for arrogance is… indeed simply arrogance."

He is suddenly taken a little aback by the unabashed honesty with which he has just admitted one of his most serious shortcomings, but if there is anyone whom Alphinaud believes suitably humble and kind enough to confide in, it would be Cid.

His drink has cooled by the time he returns his other hand to it. "And yet Alisae and I feel no need to outrun a shadow left by a man burdened by the fate of saving the world." His voice is soft, but Cid makes no movement to strain to hear him, nor is there excessive pity in his eyes. "Two scions of a feat no regular mortal would ever wish to consign their lives to, and yet here we are: two children hoping to save the realm. My age I have no quarrel with, and in this era it brooks for little question into competence, so long as we can offer our aid reliably. But there is no doubt in my mind that Alisae and I have worked twice as hard to garner the respect of men and women who would, otherwise, dismiss us as merely children."

"Children or not, you and your sister are impossibly brave. It doesn't matter in the slightest about what Louisoix left behind as a legacy. I would know. I feel burdened." He hesitates, again, his sharp silver brow furrowing once more as Alphinaud watches.

“A decision,” Cid says, finally. "I remember that I made a decision that weighed heavy on my heart when I longed for home.” He looks away. “But I also remember that whatever waited for me there was nothing I could truly call home, or warmth, or even companionship. I cannot say the same for you or the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. I would wager that Louisoix never united such unlikely allies in the way you have, or rallied them with as much foresight and composure as you have-- all at sixteen." Cid's smile is gentle. "You need not always be proud, or strong. You can doubt yourself as much as you want, but I'll-- we’ll-- be there to reassure you that you're doing a fine job of it all. Believe nothing else, Alphinaud."

“And when I make the worst of my mistakes?” he asks, feeling miserably childish the moment the words leave his mouth. 

Cid laughs. “I can assure you that I am quite sure I made my own during my youth. You will chastise yourself more harshly than anyone else ever could, and we will rally you on in the aftermath.”

* * *

Neither of them immediately respond when the adventurer finally returns on chocobo-back, hair frosted with snow, and asks them why they huddle so miserably next to the burning brazier in the middle of camp. 

After a short period of silence, Alphinaud sighs, his usual buoyant cheer at the sight of the Adventurer dampened by the cold. “You walk these lands as if they were the idyllic beaches of Costa del Sol. Mayhap you would also feel at ease in the burning depths of Titan's lair, provided there was an ample amount of food and water to sustain you indefinitely.” There is a small twinge of satisfaction when Alphinaud watches the adventurer grimace, doubtless recalling old aches and scars left from fighting the primal.

“After all of this is over, I’d welcome a short vacation in Costa, but I would be a fool to wish for total respite. My heart lies with a purpose.” Cid works his shoulders with a slight wince, then bends down to pick up his small assembled bag of tools. “Shall we get going?”

Alphinaud gives both of them a rather theatrical sigh, his breath a silvery cloud in the air. “The Scions, I suspect, would be more than unhappy to have to bankroll such a vacation. If your duties are at last completed, by the way,” Alphinaud says, addressing the adventurer, “it would be wise to make haste. It would be remiss of us to stay for long, and you completed all your tasks with such alacrity-- as always. Let us be on our way!”

**Author's Note:**

> Short, and silly. Written as a warm-up of sorts to get me back into the fic-writing scene, as well as a snippet of a gift for a friend who introduced me to FFXIV.
> 
> There may be several discrepancies, as I cannot remember whether or not Alphinaud can be found standing next to Cid during the search for the enterprise, but I do distinctly remember him complaining about the cold. Poor boy had to deal with that weird hip cutout in Coerthas.
> 
> Addendum: I wrote this late 2015 when I began the game, and hadn’t finished MSQ at that.


End file.
